LAST CALL AT THE BARn

Fire, flood, drought, disease, debt and disaster. Sounds like the first line of a poem but is, in fact, a synopsis of my farming career. And it is time to call it a day.

Most of you will already know that we have had a disproportionate amount of things happen to us since we moved here in 2013. While it's normal to have challenges, we have had to fight for the survival of the farm following a major incident around 3-5 times a year. That's an exhausting way to live. It chips away at your resilience. It's time.

We haven't really been able to recover from the 2016 fire. Financially, we are still struggling to find a resolution with the big corporation whose device started the fire and have recently taken on HUGE personal debt (again) to keep going. The personal cost to us for uninsured loss has been catastrophic and there has also been an almost daily battle just to get the things we were entitled too. Emotionally, we are still struggling - mainly with the personal resource required that continually fighting and repeatedly having to relive the fire every time we call or email the people who should be making this right! I would like to live this year in a way that doesn't require medication to keep me going. And schedule...we are still rebuilding when we should be farming. It's time.

On top of that there have been additional and significant changes occur, all of which came together and totally disrupted our existing business plans. These events left us looking at a million different scenarios focused on both keeping the business going and folding it. Eventually we realized that all of the options were crappy! Getting out is now just as hard as keeping going as we have invested so much in new websites, business cards, t-shirts, equipment, seed, etc. We have sold CSA shares, event tickets, etc that will all need to be refunded. But going on is next to impossible too regardless of the plethora of ideas for change we have run. We find ourselves caught between a rock and a hard place. It's time.

When you realize there is no preferably way to proceed, that there is no sensible plan or easier path, it becomes quite liberating. It's at this point you can let go of thinking about the business and just focus on what is right for your family. I am not strong enough to do what needs to be done to rewrite the business model and find people to get on board with us at this point in the season. Ian is drained with the battle too. He is the strongest, most resilient and reliable man on the planet, he's my absolute rock, so to see him bruised, battered and battle weary hurts my heart. Our kids don't really care! Not because they are heartless human beings but because they have become emotionally self-sufficient  due to us being so removed by the trauma, toil and tragedy of the farm. That's not ok. It would be one thing to continue if I believed that things would get better, but I don't. I cannot knowingly continue to fail them at this crossroads in pursuit of farming. It's time.

I am not special or more entitled than any one of you reading this. I can only expect the same from life that everyone else gets. I am not a religious person, or particularly spiritual. My life is fairly black and white usually. But I do now believe that for whatever reason, this was not meant to be. This is a sudden decision in as much as we were talking to chefs and customers about the season just 48 hours ago. However, we knew this year was our 'do or die' year. The year we had to turn things around and here we are at the end of January with every last option snatched from our reach. And it's frustrating because it should have worked! Our business plan and financial forecast showed a strong year, but fate it beyond our control. It's time.

There are lessons to be spoken and commentary to be made. There are 'thank yous' to be said. But not now, we just have to reel for a little bit before we can collect our thoughts and strength and let all our farm supporters how much we have appreciated them. It's time.

Subsidizing my farming habits

Every cloud has a silver lining, but sometimes you have to adjust your focus to see it.

This blog was always suppose to be about our transition into rural bliss. It has been hijacked by farming and financial drama and so far, bliss has eluded us. In my last post I talked about a substantial withdrawal from a majority of our farming activities while we rebuild, regroup and re-evaluate. A number of things have happened since then that have helped us focus on our ultimate rural-bliss goals.

First, we moved out of the RV's that housed us over this unusually tough Canadian winter, and into the treehouse that we have toiled over. Thank Goodness for Ian! What a trooper. While I assumed my position of apprentice and clean-up crew again, he transformed the underside of our existing tree house from a storage shed into a beautiful home. We will live here while we rebuild, and we're happy to do so. Moving in here and feeling the transition in my mood took me back to my days in social work. After visits to small, dingy, dark & inadequate homes, we often used to theorize on how environment, specifically housing, could impact a persons ability to make positive changes in their life. Moving into the small but gorgeous tree house lifted me and gave me the energy to look forward. I could even go as far as seeing passed the house rebuild to a time when we could rent this lovely space, an additional income that could cover half our monthly mortgage payments. The majority of the cost of this treehouse refurbishment has been covered by the emergency living fund from the insurance. Continuing to rent RV's would have been dead money but we've managed to turn it into an asset for the farm, and ourselves.

Of course, just because we can see financial incentives in the future, doesn't eradicate money troubles now, and once again, we've had to hustle. Ian hasn't had full-time employment since the fire and now that we have reduced our farming activities, we have cut our earning potential. We're no strangers to picking up casual and sometimes obscure work to make ends meet, and we certainly aren't work shy. Ian has been working nights salting roads and parking lots during this cold spell. In the meantime, I have had to take a serious look at where my time is most valuable. The outcome of that is that I should go back to work outside of the farm, with a view to easing the immediate financial challenges but also to relieve some of the pressure that will allow Ian to stay here and build the house over the summer.

So, I now have a job....and a home....like normal folk! Tomorrow I don pink and black scrubs and walk in as the new girl at a Wellness Clinic. A clean, sterile environment a world away from the daily animal poop encounters of the farm.

What does this mean for the bliss journey? It means we can continue to farm the livestock and look at manageable models for 2018. It means I can eventually subsidize my goat and piglet buying addiction. It means I can see us reaching our goal. Just imagine for a moment duel income, a rental income and a farming business of some description. It could enable us to stay here for good or give us the freedom of choice. Say, for example, we can keep living here for the next 10 years, we could potentially sell and walk away to a mortgage-free/debt free life with money in our pockets from the equity in the land. Ian would be 52, I'd be 48 and the girls will be 26 and 19. That's an appealing retirement plan!

The journey to us finding our bliss continues to snake its way up this rocky mountain road. The plans change with each hairpin bend in the road and the steep incline continues to demand every ounce of energy and commitment we can throw at it. Maybe it's taken disaster to make me realize that the road isn't paved with farming, maybe farming is just on the sidewalks?  But I can see the peak of the mountain now, for the first time, and it looks reachable.

The final breakdown

I'm writing this post before I change my mind. It's like a real-time update if you will. It's going to sound mopey and mauldling, but please do not post sympathy comments. You see, it is New Years Eve 2015 and I am mid breakdown. And I can't decide if it's a real 'beginning of the end' episode or if it's a 'end of the beginning' process.

Let me set the scene. As I mentioned it's new years eve. I had purchased a family ticket to the festivities on Grouse Mountain. But, I am sick so have sent mia familia off to enjoy themselves. There's certain factors playing into my perceived breakdown that aren't farm related at all. Sickness, for example. I keep having to stop & curl up in the fetal position while waves of stomach pain wash over me. My loving husband was unable to fulfill my requests of medicine and supplies because he could not stop working on the greenhouse in time to go to the store. I am also without any means to light the wood burning stove (it's going down to -7 tonight) so I am confined to the bedroom, the only room with any other form of heating.

I was actually in a rather calm state of mind as everyone left, quite relieved to suffer alone. However, I got up to try and light the fire and had a bout of stomach pain at the same time. The combination of the pain, profuse sweating, the no-fire predicament and the aloneness bought on unexpected wailing that, quite frankly, I was unprepared for. You see, it was not just a sob but consisted of loud cries of "I've had enough, oh god, I've had enough"....repeatedly.

What is going on with me?! Two scenarios present themselves to me.

The Beginning of the End: I have to confess that I've been struggling with the 'why we are here' dilemma. 2015 has been a great year for the farm in many aspects; achievements, recognition, awards, events, new products, new ventures, etc. but it has also been another extremely challenging year in other ways: the ongoing well issues, drought, the loss of animals, ongoing financial challenges, relentless work and relationship difficulties with my oldest daughter. I've used two analogies to summarize all this recently. The first I think I've heard somewhere before and I've adapted. I told Laura that my life is like a bar stool. 4 legs, and each one represents part of my life. Finance, Family, Work & Health. Again this year we struggled with money, family life is difficult, work is unmanageable, and although our health is generally good, we are having some challenges with our well-being too. A stool cannot stand up with all it's legs broken.

The second analogy relates to Ian, my incredible hard working and long suffering husband. Again, something I think I've heard before and plagiarized but living with Ian, a type-A, perfectionist and workaholic, is not always easy, despite the fact that I love him very much. I sometimes feel like he is driving along in a truck and I am not in the passenger seat but hanging on by my finger tips to the window. Sometimes I slip back to the tail gate and have to claw my way back to the window, but I still can't quite make it into the cab. It's great to have a motivated and ambitious husband but with all this hanging on, I'm getting bruised. I'm gathering scar tissue and I'm not sure I will ever take a comfortable seat as his passenger or if I'll just find myself struggling to keep up forever.

The next scenario is less negative, The End of the Beginning. 2 years and 5 months we have lived here and in Ian's very modest words "We've built an empire". It's true, we need to give ourselves credit for what we've achieved, how we've hung on to our values and the compromise we've endured. We have faced road blocks at every turn but here we are, writing our business plan for 2016. Things have to be easier next year. We will have more people involved in the running of the farm, a team that I'm excited about. This winter we are finishing off building projects, fencing and roofing. We are nearly done so that pressure will be relieved. Last year we finished installing our walk-in fridge 1 day before the meat chickens were due to be processed. In fact, we were still finishing the chickens coop as they arrived! The pressure was constantly on, everything was last minute, we lived life on a knife-edge. This year, there won't be any of that....hopefully. Maybe I like the chaos? Perhaps I'm mourning not having the chaos as an excuse and I have to pretend I know what I'm doing. I'm still a rookie at this. Does being a martyr suit me? Oh god, is that what I'm struggling to let go of?

The Farming 'dream' is obviously not over for us yet. We can't afford to leave even if we wanted to. But big changes are afoot, some of which I can't talk about yet. I am excited about 2016 as much as I am resentful of the work that goes with this crazy life. I still have this niggling feeling that there is a remote homestead somewhere for me and Ian and the girls that offers peace and calm. Luckily, I am not being asked to make that decision today. The only thing I have to achieve today is pulling myself together.

Laurica Farm, winner of the Greater Langley Chamber of Commerce Business Award 2015 for Environmental Leadership

Dollars and Sense

Silly, silly me.  How did we ever believe we could budget for the unknown?  You've heard me say before that we budgeted and allocated every available dollar and cent to make this house purchase possible, but this is not your average house move.  We've never set up a homestead before and so there have been costs for things that never even crossed our minds.  I’ll give you an example.  Paint.  Not just any paint, Ian believes in paying for the best quality to get the best value and longevity from any purchase.  This belief resulted in the purchase of ‘Shark skin’ instead of just any ‘run on the mill’ exterior paint.  As the painter, I can say that this is a great product BUT at over $200 for 5 gallons, it’s not cheap.  We’re currently on our third 5 gallon bucket.  Then you add painting supplies, etc. and the cost spirals.  Anyway, it’s all good and I’m pleased with what we've achieved but it has made me question whether we've really fully committed to our ‘make-do’ lifestyle.

To be honest with you, it hasn't really been my focus.  We've been so entrenched in the work that we haven’t really considered the cost-cutting part of this transition.  We've still been going out for dinner and I treated myself to a new pair of Hunter boots off eBay and yes, there are indulgences that we could have done without.  The consequence of this carelessness is that our hand has been forced.  Now that the weather is changing, we’re limited on what we can do outside and so comes the time to focus on finance.  Except now we have no choice but to make cuts.  Between now and December when Ian’s company pays shares and bonuses, the belt will be tightened so much we might be blue in the face.  You won’t be seeing us eating out at Milestones or shopping for fancy farm foot ware anytime soon.  So it really begins here, the life and sacrifices of a homesteader.  We knew this would be the pay-off for the lifestyle we've chosen but let see how the theory translates into practice.

That was the blog post I had drafted on Wednesday.  But then something happened.  I met a lady who unknowingly impacted on me with such force; it made me collide with a critical analysis of myself.  I haven’t sought this woman’s permission to disclose her information so for the sake of this post, we’ll call her Kate.

Kate and I met by chance and she came to the farm.  During the course of our meeting, she told me her story.  Up until a few years ago, Kate’s family were average hardworking people.  Kate had worked all her life to give the best to her own three children and two boys that she fostered.  Her story was much like any other until their life was touched by an event of immeasurable cruelty.  Kate projects resilience and strength, but her eyes tell a story of trauma.  Kate has made sacrifices to try and regain some stability for her family.  These are not the kind of sacrifices I am making.  My whining makes me ashamed in the presence of people like Kate “oh poor me, I can’t go out for dinner”, “eeewww, a snake slithered over my foot”, “I’m working so hard, my muscles ache”.  I think that’s what you call ‘a real first-world problem’; these are challenges, not sacrifices.

Kate walked around Laurica Farm in awe.  She talked about her love for the outdoors and the beauty of the farm.  She listened intently to our plans and asked questions.  Kate gave me perspective.  I will not talk about sacrifices again.  Being here is not a sacrifice, being here is a privilege.  We have to work hard, but who doesn't.  At least this is our choice.  Kate’s circumstances are out of her control. 

And so, thanks to Kate, as summer ends and fall takes hold, I am filled with a new determination.  I am determined not to be complacent, to keep perspective on the work and demands and, most importantly, to keep enjoying this challenge.